The Jess Collection
by Hallon
Summary: This will be a collection of short stories, all featuring Jess Mariano from different parts of his life through the series.
1. Ocean Feeling

**_A/N:_** _If you think you recognize these stories, there is every possibility that you're not imagining things. They were written years ago, and posted on my LJ. I found them again and kinda still liked them, so I did some editing. All of them features Jess in one way or other, and here is the first one._

 ** _Disclaimer:_** _Gilmore Girls is not mine. Not now, not ever._

* * *

 **Ocean Feeling**

 _ **Summary:** It was a completely unrealistic feeling, but it was comforting none the less. Jess in California, after the end of season 3._

* * *

He walked slowly down the boardwalk, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes cast down on the ground before him, ignoring everyone and everything around him. The sun coloring the sky over the houses to his left a bright red, but he didn't really pay any attention to it. He was too lost in thought. He came to the now familiar crack in the pavement and stopped for a brief second before looking up and changing his course, walking out in the sand, down to the water.

He stopped again a few feet above the water line, observing the still dark ocean. It was calm today, no surf waves welling in towards the shore, no floods of water spraying up over the sand. He stood there for a moment before he seemingly woke to life and hurriedly removed his shoes and socks. He placed them down on the sand and walked down the last steps to the water, letting his feet sink down in the wet sand with the water softly washing over them.

He stopped right at the edge of the water, standing still and looking out over the wide space in front of him, his hands once again stuffed deeply in his pockets. The sun was slowly rising behind his back and for every second the world around him became a little bit brighter and more defined. The colors started to appear more clearly, the ocean shifting from a dark blue, almost black, to a deep azure color. He took in the scenery, watching the now well-known changes and felt the usual sense of calm settle over him.

He was coming here more and more often as the days turned into weeks and eventually months. At first he didn't know why he kept coming back after that first time, didn't want to make the connection. He had never believed in things like soul mates or been one for romantic gestures, always considering it to be ridiculous nonsense. But eventually he had admitted it to himself. He came here because it reminded him of her; in some strange way the vast space in front of him made him feel connected to her. It was an unrealistic feeling, didn't make any sense at all, he was the first to admit as much, but it was comforting none the less.

Lately he had been here almost every morning, walked here early and spent what time he had before going back to change for work. It helped him relax, helped him achieve the calm he needed when dealing with the more often than not grating customers.

He worked in a book store not far from the beach, had been for about three weeks now. Truth be told, it wasn't that bad. It could definitely have been worse. But even though he enjoyed the surroundings, the smell and even sometimes got along just fine with the other employees, the amount of completely senseless customers always left him exhausted and with an even more waning hope for the human race.

But he got cheap books and it was a lot better than working for Jimmy. That had been an interesting experience to put it mildly, filled with a lot of time spent staring in disbelief or rolling his eyes. It hadn't taken them long to realize that spending almost their entire days together was not such a great idea, more often than not leading to heated arguments over the most ridiculous thing. He at least drew a breath of relief when it was over, and he was sure Jimmy had done the same thing.

These mornings also gave him the energy he needed to, after a long day in the store, make it through his night classes, make the tedious hours slightly less unbearable. It wasn't that he hated learning, or school in general for that matter. At one point he'd actually enjoyed it, but as the years went on, that feeling had faded. He just didn't see a point in learning the things they wanted him to learn. Most of it he already knew, and the rest he wondered if he'd ever have any use for.

But every time he thought about quitting he saw her face in front of him and it made him go on. He knew she would probably never even know he was doing it, but it was still a big part of his motivation, however foolish that made him. And the mornings in her imagined presence helped him recharge his energy reserve.

He had almost begun to understand his father's fascination with the beach, though he had a completely different reason for his attraction. It was still something they had in common, something more than a last name, their shared tendency to screw things up and similar tastes in books and music. He was sure there were other things, but this one seemed most important somehow. Maybe because it had become such a big part of both their lives.

These morning ventures down to the beach had started after his silent phone calls and her painful admissions. He had been searching for an outlet for his regret, pain and anger at his own stupidity, a less destructive one than going out and getting drunk, which was something he had promised himself a long time ago that he would never do. Not after growing up the way he did, with Liz strung out more often than not for long periods of time.

It had been a coincidence that he ended up on the beach that first time and he couldn't quite remember how it happened anymore. But ever since that first day it had been a reoccurring event and eventually his anger had subsided and the pain had dulled down to something that was at least manageable.

The regret was still with him all the time, nagging at his mind and sometimes blowing out in full force, igniting the pain once again. But it was getting better and he had almost convinced himself that it was all for the best.

There were still times when he couldn't think of anything else than getting on a bus and once again make the trip across the country. But every time the feeling came over him he went down to his spot and breathed in the sea air, filling his mind with the calm he needed to resist.

He had caused her enough pain already and he loved her too much to add to it. It had taken him some time to admit the depth of his own feelings, the realization only adding to the pain of knowing how badly he had screwed up. Standing here he imagined that maybe, some day, he could find a way to make it up to her. He hoped so at least because the thought of her hating him forever was utterly too painful to bear. But in the meantime he kept coming down here, contenting himself with his blue world and the artificial sense of comfort it offered him, the closeness he felt to her.

In the beginning people had looked strangely at him where he stood, completely still just at the edge of the water. But as time passed they got used to him and now they probably saw him as a part of the scenery. He supposed a lot of them thought him at least slightly crazy, but he couldn't be bothered to care. He was used to ignoring other peoples opinion of him by now, had nineteen years of practice. And besides, he rarely noticed any other people while down here anyway. Nothing existed but him and the blue world around him.

He looked out over the water with wide eyes and let the sea air spread around him. It was still early. The sun was still low on the sky behind his back even though he had been standing here for almost two hours now. He couldn't sleep again, just like back in New York. The only time he had been able to sleep for real had been the not quite two years spent in a little town in the middle of nowhere.

But it didn't matter right now, nothing did. Nothing but the bright blue in front of him.

It was almost blinding, almost too much, but he couldn't look away. Everything he saw was bright blue, the sky above him and the ocean in front of his feet. The only disruption was the white foam lining the larger of the waves, but that only served to intensify the overall impression of a blue world.

It had taken some time, but he had eventually found the perfect spot. It was a narrow patch of sand that reached out into the water and surrounded as it was by water on two sides it increased the illusion of a world made up solely of the sky and the ocean.

He unconsciously counted the waves, looking for those seventh waves that he knew would be bigger, would reach him and wash over his feet. He could see them form on their way in, grow larger as they reached shallower waters, sucking the water right in front of him further out before finally roll in to disrupt the draining sand.

A new wave came rolling towards him and soaked his bare feet, joining the others that had made the hems of his jeans dripping wet. The water tickled his skin as it flowed around his feet, joined by small grains of sand.

A few weeks after he arrived he had finally given in and stopped wearing his leather jacket, but he wouldn't relent as much as to start wearing shorts. It just wasn't him. But he had learned to appreciate the feeling of warm sand under his bare feet, mixed with the cool water. It was strange at first, and he had to think for a long time before he could remember the last time he had been walking outside barefoot, but now he always regretted it when he had to pull his shoes back on.

He wouldn't go as far as to walk barefoot anywhere but on the beech though, and therefore he always found himself walking back in shoes that got increasingly wet with every step, soaking up the water from the drenched hems of his pants. He simply refused to wear sandals, even though he could see their usefulness, but had found a cheap pair of converse at a stand on the Boardwalk and he used them for these trips. They were well worn before and now they fit his feet perfectly after being drenched so many times.

Another wave came in, this one larger than the others, reaching almost half a foot up his legs and he sucked in a deep breath at the unexpected sensation. The blue in front of him filled his view even more, giving him a sense of being swallowed by it.

As he stood there a feeling of belonging came over him, the blue all around engulfing him. It was almost as if he had drowned in her eyes and as long as he didn't move, didn't think, he could pretend it was real.

And he knew this would be a day he spent every possible minute writing in his notebook, writing about all the things he wanted to but never could find the words to say out loud.


	2. Starting Over

**Starting Over**

 ** _Summary:_** _All new beginnings had to start somewhere, right? Jess leaves New York sometime after the end of season 4._

* * *

He always knew this was not really any way to live. At least not if he wanted to live past 30.

It had been a solution for a while when he just moved back to New York and had nowhere to live following his cross country trip after leaving California.

And then that fateful visit to Stars Hollow to retrieve his car.

When he drove out of town after his admission to Rory the only thought on his mind had been that he was an idiot. But he hadn't had the courage to turn around and he didn't think it would have made any difference if he had.

He didn't think he deserved better and so he had made sure he didn't get it. And that was how he ended up continuing to live in his dump of an apartment with three other guys, sleeping on a mattress on the floor and with barely any possessions what so ever.

And that was why he took the first job he could find and never bothered looking for a new one even after he realized he hated it and that it paid just barely enough for him to survive.

And that was why he stayed in the apartment, why he spent every day crisscrossing Manhattan, no matter what weather it was.

He knew perfectly well what state the apartment was in. He knew he didn't eat enough and was too thin. He knew he needed a better job if he ever wanted any money left after rent.

He knew he wanted more than this.

But then he went to his mother's wedding, and that visit to Yale, and after that he had been too angry, too hurt, to care. He had just gone on like before, trying not to see the problems.

If he didn't see them, they didn't exist.

But as the summer went by things got worse.

The apartment that hadn't been clean to begin with took a turn for the worse in the heat. The leftover food that none of them had the energy to throw out lay around collecting mold and flies and started emitting a sickly smell.

One of the occupants moved out, or possibly died, and he had to pay more in rent and soon he didn't even eat every other day. In the beginning he didn't really notice, but then he had to make a new hole in his belt.

And then one morning he woke up and just knew he had to do something.

He couldn't go on like this forever; working a barely paying job, living in this dump, barely having enough money to eat.

Sooner or later it just wouldn't work anymore and he didn't want to be there when that happened.

It wasn't a hard decision when he finally made it. It wasn't like he was attached to New York to the hip. Not anymore anyway.

So he moved.

All new beginnings had to start somewhere, right?


	3. Split Second Decision

**Split Second Decision**

 _ **A/N:** This is a completely new one, and not part of the resurrected fics. And it's all for AJ Granger (though anyone can read it, of course), who is awesome. Thank you for your reviews. They mean a lot to me, and I can finally pay you back for all the wonderful words you've written about my stories. This one basically wrote itself after I read your review to part 2. Hope you like it._

 _ **Summary:** Then he stepped off the bus and out into the somewhat chilly air in this so far anonymous city._ _Jess, continuing from the previous part._

* * *

Jess wasn't sure when the writing had started, couldn't even remember when or where he got the notebook in the first place. It was just something that happened at random times, and he never thought about it afterwards, almost as if he was trying to forget about it. Whether that was a conscious decision or not, he couldn't tell, and he never dwelled on it for long.

The only thing he knew for sure right now was that he was on a random bus, somewhere that was not New York City, and he had just run out of paper to write on. He had been surprised when he suddenly found himself on the very last page of the notebook, for the first time having to consciously think about what he had done with the other 159 pages.

For the first time he realized that he had been writing in it more than he'd been aware of, and for the life of him, he couldn't say what was on those pages. Truth be told, he was almost afraid to find out. But, the only other option right now was to find a store where he could get a new notebook.

He could feel the words in the back of his mind, wanting to get out. That had never happened before. Sitting here now, he could remember feeling an urge to write, but it had never been on this level, never this intense. It was almost as if a part of his mind had been opened up since he sat down in this seat, and it was both exhilarating and at the moment frustrating, because he had no outlet for it.

The bus suddenly lurched to an abrupt stop, and he whipped his head up, having no idea where they were, or even what time of day it was. He hadn't paid any attention to the world outside the bus window since he sat down, and now he was surprised to find there were buildings outside and what looked like the bustle of a larger bus station.

Figuring he had nothing to lose, he picked up the notebook and pen, got out of his seat and hoisted the duffel up on his shoulder. Then he stepped off the bus and out into the somewhat chilly air in this so far anonymous city. He knew he'd at least be able to find a new notebook here, if nothing else.

It didn't take long to find a sign that told him he was in Philadelphia. It was a city he knew practically nothing about, outside of what little information there was in the _Rocky_ movies, and he didn't think that would get him very far. But, it was a new city, there were sure to be bookstores, and hopefully something to eat that wasn't a complete rip off.

It was a split second decision, but he knew he was going to stay. If asked about it, he knew he would never be able to give a logical reason, at least not one he was comfortable with. He had a sneaking suspicion logic had very little to do with it.

And that was what scared him. Getting out of New York, that had been necessary, a conscious choice. Everything since then had been a bit vaguer. He had no idea where he was going when he left the apartment, he just walked to the bus station and got on the first bus he came up to, not even reading the destination. Truthfully, he hadn't cared where he ended up, as long as it wasn't in New York.

And now here he was, in Philadelphia, with a still present urge to write, and nothing to write in. He could almost feel his fingers itching to once more hold the pen, and he set off in a random direction, hoping to find someplace to buy a notebook. He had never felt anything like this before, this overwhelming sense of need, and it unnerved him a little.

He walked at a quick pace and soon he was far from the bus station, not even aware how long he'd been walking. He might have gone past a whole array of bookstores, but he'd been so lost in thought he didn't even know what street he was on. He had been writing in his mind, trying to memorize everything he had no paper to print down on.

Then he saw a sign above the door at a building across the street, and without thinking about it, hardly even checking for cars, he walked straight off the sidewalk, hurrying his steps even more the closer he got to the building.

He almost ran up the stairs and rushed through the door, startling the people inside, flexing the fingers in his right hand to make the tingling go away, only to find he was grasping the pen in a tight grip already. The other hand still held the notebook.

"Can I help you?" a guy around his own age asked, standing up from a desk and directing a smile his way.

"I need more paper," Jess burst out, the need to write almost overwhelming. "The sign outside read books. Please tell me you have something I can write on."

The other guy stared for a few moments, then his smile grew bigger and he stepped out from behind his desk. "I'm Chris," he introduced himself, reaching out a hand, but after a second pulled it back, apparently noticing the stranger's hands were already full. "What're you writing?"

"I don't know," Jess confessed, frowning even as he said it. "I just know I need to write it down."

"You can have my chair," Chris offered, pulling a stack of paper from a drawer and placing them on the desk, exchanging a look with the other guys in the room that Jess completely missed.

"Thanks," Jess mumbled absentmindedly as he sat down in the chair and started writing, completely oblivious to the other guys and their stares. The only thing on his mind was to get all of the words swimming around in his head down on paper before they escaped him.


	4. Morning Rush

**Morning Rush**

 ** _A/N:_** _This one brings us back to the old resurrected fics._

 ** _Summary:_** _If he didn't know it before, he now knew that he hated mornings. Jess, sometime in the first half of season 2._

* * *

He was rushing around the diner with a coffee pot, filling up cups on his way, glaring at the customers who didn't answer fast enough when he asked if they wanted a refill.

When he actually bothered asking, couldn't they at least have the decency to respond?

In the corner of his eye he saw how the middle aged man at the table next to the door raised his cup, obviously preparing to request a refill. Muttering a string of curses he contemplated ignoring it, since the same man had turned down his offer for more coffee only a minute before. But he knew he'd just end up going back there after a pointed look from Luke.

So he sighed, swallowed down his sharp remark about making up one's mind and filled up the cup. On his way back to the counter he told it quietly to the empty air instead, which didn't feel at all as satisfying.

Damn, it was hard not to blow up around these nutcases.

The bell above the door jingled once again, happily announcing the arrival of another hopeful breakfast patron to the already packed diner, completely disregarding the hateful glare he directed at it.

Why couldn't it just shut the hell up?

Why did all these people have to come here every damned morning to eat?

As Kirk, for the fifth time that morning, started up his complaints over the food he seriously contemplated bailing. But he caught sight of Luke looking straight at him with a serious expression on his face and instead picked up the plate and returned it to the kitchen, muttering curses under his breath all the way.

He had been here for a couple weeks now and the mornings in Luke's was by far one of his least favorite things about the town. Normally he could just ignore the people, staying away either in the apartment or by the bridge he had found on his wanderings. But the mornings Luke made him work in the diner those options weren't even options.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and brought out yet another plate for Kirk, slammed it down on the table in front of the man, who seriously should try getting a hobby, and studiously ignored Luke's comment about his lack of manners.

He hadn't even said anything, didn't that count for something?


	5. Connection

**Connection**

 ** _Summary:_** _There were so many things that brought them together…this was just one of them. Jess, after the end of season 6._

* * *

He had always thought that family was part of what brought them together from the beginning. Part of the connection they shared.

Of course, there was the obvious fact that his uncle just happened to be living in the same town as her.

Coincidence?

Maybe.

Then there were their fathers. Neither of them had ever had a stable father to rely on, to brag about accomplishments to, a father who awkwardly soothed them after they'd hurt themselves riding a bike for the first time.

Of course, her father had been around a few times, whereas he had never met his until he was almost nineteen, but he wondered what was worse.

Broken promises or no promises at all?

When it came down to it he figured they both saw Luke as somewhat of a father figure, that person to look up to and know they could always depend on.

His theory got a bit blurry when it came to their mothers. There really wasn't that much that was similar between them, apart from them both being crazy, albeit in very different ways.

Of course, they were now both living in the same small town, so he wasn't so sure about the different part anymore.

What he was sure of though was that it would be family that brought him and Rory together next time too. This time it would be his as of yet unborn sibling. There was no way he could get out of coming to visit him or her, and really, he wasn't even considering not coming.

He had to, for his own peace of mind if nothing else.

And Luke.

He was supposed to have come up on June 3rd. But obviously, that wasn't happening anymore.

Maybe he should go check on the guy. Make sure his uncle was doing ok. After all, he did know what it was like losing a Gilmore girl.

But then he might run into her.

There really was no way he could come up to Stars Hollow repeatedly and not run into Rory one single time, it just wasn't possible.

Of course, she would probably do everything she could to avoid him, but there were just so many places in that town where you could go.

What he would do when he saw her again he hadn't dared to think about yet.

Or rather, he had, but he usually refused to acknowledge it.

He knew what he should do. He should just stop thinking about it. About her.

Then again, if it were that easy, he'd have done it a long time ago.

But, when had his life ever been easy?

So yeah, he would go.

And if he ran into Rory, so be it.

He could handle it.

He was (mostly) positive about that.


	6. Irrevocable

**Irrevocable**

 _ **A/N:** There is no_ _connection between this and part 2. I just had the urge to write a tortured Jess at times, and this was the result of one of those times._

 ** _Summary:_** _Somehow the image of that stretcher being rolled out of the building, with the shapeless black plastic bag seemingly carelessly thrown on it made my stomach twitch. Jess in New York, somewhere around the end of season 4._

* * *

It's final.

There's no choice left. Once you've passed that line there's no going back, nothing you can do to change it.

That's probably the thing that scares him most about it. The fact that it's definite.

Fucking irrevocable.

He never believed in all that crap about heaven and hell. And even if he did, what's the point? There's no way he'd go to heaven anyway, so he'd still be pretty screwed.

Right?

No, to it's all very simple. You die. And that's it.

No angels, no pearly gates, no happy ending. Just a pile of bones, flesh and skin that slowly returns to nature.

Or fast if they burn your body.

And when it happens, everything you did in life and everything you didn't do will forever be left behind, as a reminder of your life and the choices you made.

No matter how crappy they were or how much you regret them, they'll be there and they'll be the only thing left of you.

A rather depressing thought, considering the choices he's made so far.

Ok, so it's a fucking terrifying thought; fits perfectly somewhere in the general vicinity of a really damn hard punch in the gut.

The problem is, he doesn't know how to fix any of it.

But he knows he better figure something out soon, 'cause there's no way in hell he's gonna end up like the woman they just wheeled out of the building on a stretcher, stashed in a black body bag.

With no one to care if he's gone, no one to remember him as anything else than a bunch of trouble.

There has to be some way.

Right?

The paramedics push the stretcher into the waiting ambulance and drive off, leaving the street deceptively empty again. As empty as it gets around here at midnight. There's always people hanging around in the corners and the entryways to the buildings.

It's never quiet. And it always smells like a dump. It's fucking disgusting when he thinks about it.

But then again, he's done a pretty good job of not thinking in the past months.

The police have already talked to everyone in the area, including him, although the only thing he knows is what he heard when he got here not that long ago. And then they had already sealed the building off.

By now they are gone and have probably already written the death off as an overdose. Shrugged it off as something inevitable.

It's a wide known fact in the neighborhood that Shelly has been stoned more or less constantly for the past years. It didn't exactly come as a surprise to anyone that she was dead.

But somehow the image of that stretcher being rolled out of the building, with the shapeless black plastic bag seemingly carelessly thrown on it made his stomach twitch.

It wasn't a good feeling. Far from it.

Not that he's in any immediate danger of dying from an overdose. But in this neighborhood, you never know what happens.

It's not like Shelly was the first person he'd seen wheeled off to a waiting ambulance. And if he stayed here, she'd be far from the last.

And next time it could just as easily be him getting in the way of a bullet or caught in the middle of one of the street fights that seem to come with increasing frequency.

It's not like it's never happened.

Through some crazy fluke he's just managed to avoid getting seriously injured so far.

But somehow in the past couple of minutes the fog that has been taking over his mind in the past months has disappeared. The fog he had swept everything he didn't want to remember in was suddenly gone in less than a second.

And standing here, suddenly without that barrier between him and the reality is one hell of a wakeup call.

And he wonders how the hell he ended up here.

Of course, he knows the answer to that question. he didn't give a damn about what happened to him when he got back to the city and then he just went on.

And nothing ever gave him a reason to care again. Correction: he never gave himself a reason to care.

Because caring would mean that he had to see everything, remember everything, feel everything. And he couldn't handle that.

He's still not sure if he can handle it, but he doesn't think he has a choice anymore.

Or maybe he does and he already made it without knowing it.

However it happened he's here, for the first time in a long while completely conscious of the world around him.

And he's made his choice.

And somehow that suddenly seems like the easy part.

What the hell is he gonna do now? How the hell is he gonna get some direction in his life, get out of this place and actually do something worthwhile?

Yeah, that's a damned good question.

And to tell the truth he has no fucking idea.

But realizing that is a start, right? It has to be because otherwise he's just gonna be back where he was only a few minutes ago.

And there's no way he's gonna let that happen again.

He suddenly feels someone watching him and realizes he's been standing here for too long, staring after the ambulance. It's not a good idea to do that around here, something he should damn well know by now.

He only hopes that his face hasn't revealed anything that went on in his head, 'cause that would be even more stupid.

But when he starts walking into the building, and continue up to the apartment no one follows. He lets out an involuntary breath of relief and climbs the last couple of stairs, entering the seventh floor.

He shudders on the inside at the state of the place and wonders how the hell he could have lived here for so long, deciding to get out as fast as possible.

That has to be a good first step. If not he has no idea what would be.

But it feels right.

For the first time in a long while he feels inspired.

So he grabs his notebook and writes until there are no words left, until he feels as if everything he is, everything he knows, has been transferred to paper.

He feels hollow in a way he never has before, but at the same time more whole than ever.

And for the first time he considers actually doing something with all the notebooks he has filled.

Maybe, just maybe, it would lead to something good.

And maybe in time he'll even be able to right some of the mistakes he's made. If not all so at least enough to make him able to move forward in life.

To hopefully someday wake up not hating himself.


	7. Interrupted

**Interrupted**

 _ **Summary:**_ _What exactly is the point of all that Math anyway? Jess, sometime during season 2._

* * *

 _… But it was not my show any more and I wished this bloody train would get to Mestre and I would eat and stop thinking. I would have to stop._

 _Piani would tell them they had shot me. They went through the pockets and took the papers of the people they shot. They would not have…_

* * *

"Jess!" his teacher's voice rang out in the classroom, shattering the images he had made up in his mind and abruptly brought his attention away from the book.

"Huh," he uttered without thinking, irritated by the interruption. He only had half a page left before the next part of the book.

"Could you put the book down and pay attention for a change?" the teacher asked.

She sounded almost as if she was about to give up any minute, but then she just stood at the front of the classroom, completely still and stared at him. He sighed, laid his book down and slouched down more in his chair, figuring it wasn't worth the trouble. He could always finish reading when the class ended. It wasn't like he didn't already know the book almost word for word.

"Fine," he muttered and finally she turned back to the black board. He could feel the other students looking at him, but he ignored them and concentrated on the clock above the door.

He was sitting in the exact same position, counting the seconds until the class let out, when the teacher once more called his name and he slowly moved his eyes to meet her gaze.

"Yes?" he asked, probably sounding as bored as he felt. He heard some sighs and snickers from around the room.

"Can you tell me the answer to this problem?" she said, pointing to the geometric figure and writings on the board.

"Why?"

The question was met by a murmur of voices all over the room.

"Excuse me?" she asked, stunned.

"I said: why?" Jess said slowly, sitting up a little in his chair.

"Because it's an important part of your education and so far you haven't even remotely participated in class."

"What's the point?" Jess asked and sat up even straighter, looking directly at the teacher. "It's not like I'm ever gonna need to know how to calculate the angle adjacent to the hypotenuse of a stupid triangle enclosed in a circle. Now is there?"

He could hear some of the other students mumbling around him and some giggling from the corner of the room, but he continued to ignore them.

The teacher closed her eyes for a second. "Could you just humor me and answer the question?"

"Fine," Jess mumbled again and reached for the calculator on the desk next to his, ignoring the protest from its owner. Then he glanced at the black board and thought for a second, did some calculations and checked the window and the board before looking up and saying, "52."

"What?" the teacher asked, quickly checking her books, the surprise evident in her whole body.

Jess sighed before saying, "I said, 52. You wanted the answer to the problem, right? It's 52."

And then the bell rang and Jess quickly tossed the calculator back onto the next desk before grabbing his book and walking out the door, ignoring his teacher calling his name. Instead he opened the book and continued reading where he left off.

* * *

 _They would not have my papers. They might call me drowned. I wondered what they would hear in the States. Dead from wounds and other causes. Good Christ I was hungry._ _…_


	8. Foreboding

_**A/N:** This will be the last entry in this collection. At least for now. If I get new ideas, there might be more installments, but these are the ones I had from before, plus that third one.  
_

* * *

 **Foreboding**

 ** _Summary:_** _Comforting or warning? Either way it brought him home. Jess, as he comes to Stars Hollow for the first time in season 2._

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There is a definite sense of foreboding in the bus as it draws constantly closer to his new home. He isn't sure if the sensation is comforting or not. It doesn't exactly feel like a warning, it just…is. And it makes him slightly uncomfortable not being able to interpret the feeling.

He only knows something is going to happen that will change his world forever. Even more than has already happened by this sudden move to a relative he can hardly remember, which is a pretty damn big change to begin with. He isn't sure he is up for more changes for a while, but he somehow has a feeling that he doesn't have much of a say in the matter.

He puts his book down with a sigh and stares out the window at the scenery unfolding itself. He hasn't been able to concentrate on the words for a while now and it only manages to make his thoughts drift in directions he definitely doesn't want them to.

Everything he sees is so different from what he has always known, as far from his life back in New York as you can possibly get. All there is outside the window are fields, woods and small towns he thinks he would miss if he closes his eyes for more than a second.

There are no buildings clawing their way up towards the sky, battling over the small space of sky there is left. No busy, fuming streets filled with cars and people fighting over who will be the first to the next crossing.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, settling back in his seat and tries to block out the world outside. It doesn't work for long and eventually he opens his eyes again, biting back a curse as the driver announces his destination.

He watches as the bus takes the last turn and enters the small town. There is a sign proclaiming that it has been there since 1779 and that the population isn't much bigger than the block he grew up in.

As the bus steers in towards the curb and stops he thinks about just staying onboard, taking the bus to Hartford and make his way back to the city. But the feeling he thought he had gotten rid of surfaces again, stronger this time, and almost forces him out of his seat and off the bus.

He climbs down the steps and finds himself face to face with a middle aged man in a flannel shirt and baseball cap that looks like it might be permanently attached to his head. Face to face with the uncle he hasn't seen since he was too young to remember, the feeling grows stronger and clearly tells him this is where he needs to be.

He is not so sure he agrees, but either way here he is and as he follows Luke over the street and into the diner he feels himself resign to it.

Jess Mariano is home and all he has to do now is wait.


End file.
